


Chicken Soup

by lorcaswhisky (aristofranes)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Discovery is very stressful at the moment and this is my coping mechanism, F/M, Gen, Starfleet Academy, bonus Philippa Georgiou, the fluffiest of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 18:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristofranes/pseuds/lorcaswhisky
Summary: “This is the stupidest thing you've ever done.”“Really? I thought maybe top ten...”Kat has the flu, and Gabriel decides to try and help.





	Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

> They say you should write about what you know ... I have the flu, so this happened.

Kat's faculties might have been impaired by the flu, but the second she heard a scrabbling at her window, her training kicked in. She cast her eyes around for a weapon – a hardback copy of _The Interpretation of Dreams_ (a much treasured heirloom, but one whose sharp corners could cause enough damage to fend off any potential intruder) would have to do – and, pressing her back to the wardrobe, whipped open the curtain, book held aloft, ready to strike.

Sweaty, slightly out of breath, blue eyes glinting in the evening sun, Gabriel Lorca clung to her windowsill, hanging on with little more than his fingertips and a prayer.

“Hi Kat.” His voice was muffled behind the glass. Kat exhaled, relieved and enraged in almost equal measure.

“What are you _doing?”_

“Came to see you.”

“We're four floors up!”

“Yeah. Good views.”

“You could have broken your neck!”

“Still might,” There was just a hint of panic in his voice. “Can I come in?”

Sighing, Kat relented and unlocked the window, swinging it inwards as far as it would go. Gabriel hauled himself inside with a grunt, landing less than gracefully on the patch of carpet between bed and wardrobe in the tiny room. Kat sank back on to the bed and stared at him, aghast.

“This is the stupidest thing you've ever done.”

“Really? I thought maybe top ten,” replied Gabriel, trying to shake some feeling back into his fingers.

“How did you even get up here?”

“With a little more difficulty than I'd planned on.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” asked Kat exasperatedly.

“You weren't in class,” said Gabriel, as though it were perfectly straightforward, picking himself up and straightening his clothes.

“I'm ill.”

“And you wouldn't open your door,” he added reproachfully.

“I'm _ill_.”

“I know. Which is why I brought this.” He slung his rucksack from his shoulders and rummaged inside it briefly, before producing a sealed container.

“What is it?” Kat asked, accepting it suspiciously.

“Chicken soup.”

Kat stared at him.

“You made this?”

“Sure.”

“ _You_ made chicken soup.”

“Easy.”

“Alright, how?”

“Well, you ... there's chicken ... and then ... you get ... soup...” Gabriel sagged. “Phil helped me, OK?”

“Helped?”

“ _Fine,_ it was her idea,” Gabriel sulked.

“Ha,” Kat unscrewed the lid and took as deep a breath as she was able to, inhaling its reassuring aroma. “Well, tell her I'm very grateful.”

“ _This_ was my idea, though.” Gabriel pulled a bottle of whisky from the bag. He held it out towards Kat, proud.

“I’d never have guessed,” she snorted.

“It's medicinal.”

“I'll stick to the soup, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. Guess you won't mind if I have some? Call it a vaccine.”

“Help yourself. You know where everything is.” Kat re-cocooned herself in the duvet and cupped the soup container in her hands. There was a soft _chink_ of glass against glass and the sound of a generous measure of whisky being poured. Gabriel leant against the wardrobe, appraising her thoughtfully as he sipped.

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” said Kat sourly.

“Why didn't you say you were sick?” he asked softly. Kat was surprised to realise that his eyes were full of concern.

“It's just the flu.”

“Hmm.” He rested the back of his hand on her forehead. “Eurgh.”

“Your bedside manner needs a little work,” said Kat, raising an eyebrow as Gabriel wiped his hand on his trousers.

“You should have told me,” he said sternly.

“Why? So you could break into my room and insult me sooner?”

“So I could look after you. And I prefer to use the front door, but needs must.”

“I don't need looking after.” The seriousness that Kat had tried her best to muster was somewhat diminished by a huge sneeze that took her by surprise.

“Right.”

There was silence for a while as Kat drank her soup with a reasonable impression of dignity, before Gabriel clicked his fingers as though remembering something. He crouched and began to rifle through his rucksack.

“I knew it must be serious when you didn't show up for class, so ... I took some notes for you.”

Kat blinked.

“I must be in worse shape than I thought – I could have sworn you just said you _took notes._ ”

“That’s right.”

“In class.”

“Where else would I take notes?”

“You paid attention for a whole class?”

“I can't promise I didn't fall asleep but ... most of it's there.”

Kat took the proffered PADD and flipped blearily through its contents. A brief sweep was enough to tell her that yes, he had clearly drifted off for a large chunk of the class. And while Gabriel's attempts at note-taking would provide a pretty good insight into his thought process, they would give her very little idea of what the lecture had actually been about. But she was so touched by the gesture that she didn't have the heart to say so.

“This is ... great. Thank you.”

He shrugged.

“Finished?” he asked, gesturing to the soup container. Kat nodded sleepily, and he placed it up on the windowsill.

“You should get some rest,” he said gruffly.

“I was trying to, until you showed up.”

Gabriel hung his jacket on the corner of the wardrobe, sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots.

“Scoot over,” he said, nudging Kat in the ribs.

“What are you doing?”

“Working on my bedside manner.”

Too tired to argue, Kat allowed Gabriel to scoop her up and pull her close to him, not that there was really any option other than to be close in her single bed. He waited patiently as she fidgeted into a comfortable position, eventually settling her head in the crook of his arm.

“This is _not_ what that phrase means,” mumbled Kat stuffily.

“It's an experimental treatment,” replied Gabriel, gently brushing her hair from her eyes with his free hand.

“You'll get sick,” Kat warned.

“I never get sick.”

“What about that time on--"

“Fluke.”

“Or when--"

“You're delirious. Go to sleep.”

*

Kat woke to a cool morning breeze that wound its way through the window, still open after the arrival of her unexpected visitor. She stretched, pleased to note a marked improvement in her symptoms.

There was a low groan from somewhere underneath the heap of duvet beside her.

“Tell Phil we're gonna need more soup...”


End file.
